Play Ground

The news doesn't generally bother me, mostly because I don't listen too closely. General politics is about as much as I can handle. But this thing about the little girl who was kidnapped and used as a sex slave for 18 years by a methhead religious fanatic. Well, I don't think about it. Held in a shanty in the backyard -- shrubbery shielded it from the parole officer inspections. Two little daughters, born when she was 14 and 18. Maybe 13 and 17.

Gee. I'm absolutely certain that there were no baby boys born. Only those two little girls. Yep.

But let me ruin your day. Heard on the radio last night that a neighbor used to sort of observe sex parties going on in the backyard. Every sex offender and drug addict in the county would drop by with a keg, hooting and hollering deep into the night. There'd be a line in the backyard, outside a tent. Bobbing motions could be seen, and high-fives.

I really really need for there to be a hell. I want to do graduate work with a razor and pliars, so I can stand in line to work on this guy. I want to exhaust myself for eternity, beating him to death.

I looked up the state's Megans Law website. Plug in your zip code and get a list of the sex offenders. There are 15 in my zip code, 51 in my town. Mostly against children.


J